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A poem by Francis Thompson |
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A Fallen Yew |
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Title: A Fallen Yew Author: Francis Thompson [More Titles by Thompson] It seemed corrival of the world's great prime, No tender Dryad ever did indue But some god like to those grim Asgard lords, Upheaved its stubborn girth, and raised unriven, When doom puffed out the stars, we might have said, For this firm yew did from the vassal leas, And levy impost on the golden sun, But now our yew is strook, is fallen--yea Never! -To Hades' shadowy shipyards gone, Stirred by its fall--poor destined bark of Dis! - Reverberations of mortality: Its breast was hollowed as the tooth of eld; Yet they, within its very heart so crept, And in its boughs did close and kindly nest But bird nor child might touch by any art The breadth of God, he breadth of death and life! The sweetest wife on sweetest marriage-day, - "I take you to my inmost heart, my true!" The hold that falls not when the town is got, Its ports you cannot burst--you are withstood - Its gates are deaf to Love, high summoner; Yourself are with yourself the sole consortress Its keys are at the cincture hung of God; And if His feet shall rock those floors in wrath, Yea, in that ultimate heart's occult abode Built by a secret Lover for His Spouse; - [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |